


Misfolding of TEL-67 following t(11;16) and other structural anomalies associated with the advent of telepaths: a PCR analysis.

by keatsblue



Category: RWBY
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Get your LUCKY CHARMS CEREAL, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Pre-Relationship, References to Depression, Telepathy, clover swears a lot in this one i mean come on he's a military man, headcanon clover did research as a student at Atlas Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:59:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keatsblue/pseuds/keatsblue
Summary: Wherein everything is the same, except Clover Ebi is a telepath who says 'fuck' a lot.Purely self-indulgent, I wrote this instead of sleeping.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 188
Collections: rubess





	Misfolding of TEL-67 following t(11;16) and other structural anomalies associated with the advent of telepaths: a PCR analysis.

**Misfolding of TEL-67 following t(11;16) and other structural anomalies associated with the advent of telepaths: a PCR analysis.**

Authors: McGrath, M; Hu, X; Keaten, R; Smith, L; Trelick, V; Ebi, C.

Huntsman Academy of Atlas, City of Atlas, Solitas.

Abstract: Via genetic circumstances yet to be fully elucidated, it is known that approximately 2% of the population of Remnant possesses some form of telepathic ability. Various hypotheses regarding the appearance of so-called ‘mind-readers’ have been scrutinized within the literature, including (1) a case study involving a Mantle subject demonstrating telepathy by Velyn et al., (2) a genomic library generated from 9 telepathic subjects by Sung et al., (3) Yinsen et al.’s statistical analysis of the rate of telepathic occurrence among faunis, and (4) Watts and Ricket’s work implicating the link between telepathy and Semblance. In addition, telepathy has long been suggested to play a role in development of semblances that mark top hunters/huntresses, such as reported within the famous Beacon Academy retrospective cohort study. Therefore, a more nuanced understanding of the genetic and molecular alterations underlying telepathic abilities constitutes an essential strategic consideration within periods of increased Grimm aggression. In our previous work, McGrath et al. identified that misfolding of TEL-67, a transport protein within the neuronal Golgi apparatus, was present within 5 of 8 telepathic subjects enrolled in our study. Upon further analysis and contributions by Sung et al., t(11;16) could be associated with this anomaly. Within this study, McGrath et al. proposes a spectrum of genetic alterations responsible for differing ranges of telepathic ability and provides an assessment of the efficacy of such mutations in regard to telepathy via use of PCR amplification.

* * *

At times, Clover was unsure whether his telepathy was a blessing or a curse. He supposed it could be some byproduct of his Semblance – the good fortune to be always aware of his opponent’s next move, able to execute the perfect counterstrike nearly every time. Nevertheless, luck and prosperity too often bred jealousy, and envious thoughts were seldom kind.

He had heard it all before. _Clover’s only doing better because he has such a good Semblance. It’s just luck that fool got his license. That shithead could only be top of the class by divine intervention, which I guess is his superpower, so. Fuck him._

On the upside, there was little anyone could say to his face that was worse than what they had thought first, usually on multiple occasions. Mockery and barbed compliments alike rolled right off of him, like yesterday’s headlines. Clover hadn’t made a habit of revealing his telepathic abilities to others since one memorable _oh god he knows what I’m thinking that’s super creepy_ , so those with the balls to insult him to his face often came away puzzled by his glib attitude. Really, developing a thick skin was little more than a survival instinct – thoughts about him tended to draw his attention like someone saying his name aloud, so he couldn’t tune them out. He had two options: gain some confidence or drown in the mire.

In other words, Clover Ebi became a badass Huntsman, ray of fucking sunshine, beacon of awesomeness, master of his own fate, and anyone who thought differently could fuck right off.

That being said, the unending litany of self-deprecating bullshit running through the mind of Qrow Branwen was becoming increasingly hard to ignore.

_Just my presence here is jeopardizing this whole mission. I hope the kids are alright? At least I’m not with them. They don’t need any more bad luck. Shoulda left as soon as we got to Atlas. Those kids don’t need me; I’ve been nothing but an extra weight dragging them down since even before we ran into that Apathy. I’m supposed to be a Huntsman, for fuck’s sake, couldn’t even lift a limb to help – ah, shit, this poor sap that’s stuck w—_

At this point, Clover is almost desperate enough to make conversation. He had heard tales of Branwen’s work as a Huntsman, both from General Ironwood and from years spent idolizing the man as a trainee. He’s aware of Qrow’s Semblance, made the conscious decision to keep him close during this mission. Honestly, he was kind of excited to get started for that very reason. It helps that Qrow cuts a fine figure, faint glow from the Dust veins playing across his features. He’s beautiful. 

_Nothing but a waste of space, waste of air. My own niece had to snap me back into shape… Being a fucking drunkard never bothered me before, but I guess I let it make me useless again. Like after Summer disappeared… God I could use a drink. Wait, can’t, can’t, can’t, CAN’T. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. I need a distraction..._

Clover’s struggling (and failing) to hide his grimace when Qrow speaks. “Gotta say, I’m still not really used to working with other Huntsmen in the field.”

_Ugh, that was probably lame. Makes me sound like a weird, lonely old guy. Which, heh._

“But you were on a team before, weren’t you?” It’s difficult, sometimes, for Clover to parse out exactly when someone has stopped talking and started thinking. Especially someone who seems to think as much as Qrow.

There’s a sigh, and then a general feeling of indescribable longing – and Clover knows it’s longing, hears it clear as day just the same as when someone makes a sound that conveys a message, even if they don’t necessarily say any words. “Long time ago. I just found working alone tends to be for the best.”

“Well, I think that’s a shame.”

Qrow doesn’t have time to formulate a response to that, and Clover hears the _oh fuck oh FUCK_ before he even sees the other Huntsman start to pitch forward. Grabbing ahold of the man’s arm to keep him from faceplanting into the ground is a simple thing, even without the aid of his Semblance. It’s warm to the touch. Soft. Wiry hairs tickle Clover’s fingertips as he lets go.

_Wow, nice one Branwen, way to show off your skills—_

Aaaaaand Clover just remembered that he probably needs to check in with the rest of the Ace-Ops. He ignores Qrow’s not-so-silent stewing and cute, tiny frown for now, opting to speak into his communicator.

“Alpha here. Give me an update.”

Vine’s voice crackles over the speaker. “The connecting tunnels seem clear. We should be approaching the actual mine any minute now.”

Clover hums his affirmative, and he and Qrow continue their journey down the abandoned tunnel in somewhat awkward silence. Or, at least, Clover assumes it’s silent for one party. He’s thankful that he has had plenty of time in his life to practice his pokerface, because listening to Qrow’s thoughts is an emotional rollercoaster.

Thankfully, they don’t get too far before Clover’s comm flares to life once again, various members of his team reporting that they have cleared their respective areas of Grimm. He’s just beginning to enjoy how this mission is going when the Geist crashes through the tunnel ahead of them.

Qrow moves without even thinking, firing repeatedly while the Geist swerves and spirals around the tunnel. Clover dutifully calls in over the comms. “This is Alpha! We’ve engaged the target!”

Apparently Qrow hadn’t been able to get a good shot in— _just die, you asshole—_ judging by his growing frustration. Clover requests back-up before joining the fray himself, dashing forward and deploying his Kingfisher. To his dismay, the shot misses (but only just). Fast fucker.

As soon as he reaches it, the Geist draws itself up to its full height, drawing ice and rocks into itself to form a makeshift body. He easily dodges the first swipe of its ice-encrusted claws, ready to strike with Kingfisher once more—

_Shit, shit!_

“Wait, stop!”

At Qrow’s frantic cry, Clover turns to look at him. There’s the brief screeching sound of metal coming loose, and that’s when he notices a support beam falling toward his face at high speed. He doesn’t have time to dodge, only register Qrow’s horrified expression before—

Luckily (ha), the angle is just off, and the beam slams into the unstable ground between Clover and the Geist. He hears the sound of crumbling rock but can’t take stock of his surroundings for the large cloud of dust around him. It seems Qrow can’t see anything, either, from the way he can hear him panicking over there. His fear subsides a little once the dust clears enough to make out Clover’s figure, though it’s replaced by trepidation once he notices the huge hole in the ground at his feet.

“Darn it,” Clover intones, mostly on principle. Guess his team isn’t done yet. “Target escaped, last seen headed east.”

At his side, Qrow’s thoughts are all the more distracting. _He could have died, and it would’ve been MY fault. Why am I even here? This man is a skilled Huntsman, with a real future, while I’m just a washed up nobody who doesn’t even know his own purpose anymore. If only—Oz—_

Clover has had quite enough of that. “Thanks for the callout! That could have been bad.”

Qrow sighs again, his mind still running. When he speaks, his voice is small. “I wouldn’t thank me. My Semblance brings misfortune. Sometimes I can’t keep it under control.”

Clover can practically feel Qrow bracing for rejection. Even if he couldn’t read minds, the tense set of the older Huntsman’s shoulders says it all. It’s a study in Clover’s tenuous self-control that he doesn’t reach out to the other Huntsman, offer some form of comfort. Maybe even a hug. That wouldn’t be appropriate, though, especially for Qrow, who is blissfully unaware of Clover’s inside scoop on his every thought.

Therein lies the other problem with Clover’s telepathy—he gets to know people too well, too fast. He could already admit to himself that he found Qrow attractive, objectively. He even admired his skill as a Huntsman. But Qrow is so humble, so caring for the people around him. He worries about people he barely knows, and he’s so afraid of himself. It’s… endearing. Clover is… endeared.

And now that he’s aware of this, he could never ignore it.

“That so?” He shoots Qrow a slight smile, making a show of considering the fallen support beam. “Well, hey, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

An idea occurs to him, then, from seemingly nowhere. There’s a faint sense of peace, like everything is gonna be alright—a sure sign that Clover has come to associate with the activation of his own Semblance. He follows the suggestion without question, hooks Kingfisher around the beam. Pulls.

The results are impressive. The force from the beam pulls a large amount of rock and floor down with it, creating plenty of space for the two Huntsmen to maneuver down.

“ _My_ Semblance is _good_ fortune,” Clover reassures. “Lucky you, huh?”

He throws Qrow a wink, because he can’t resist, and doesn’t stick around to watch the surprise and startled _interest_ unfold across his face. Instead, he tugs his comm a little closer to his mouth, half his attention on Qrow’s inner monologue.

_Wait what was that… good fortune? Seriously?!_

“Charlie, Bravo.”

_And that couldn’t be flirting with… with me…_

“You should be able to cut off the target at the heart of the mine—”

_No, no, no, ohhhh shit. He’s hot._

If Qrow notices Clover’s slight hiccup at that, he doesn’t think on it. Rather, Clover’s senses are briefly overwhelmed with appraisals of his own form, little things that Qrow hadn’t noticed until this very moment, and others that he definitely had been noticing for some time. His stomach feels like he’s just chugged a fifth of that disgusting (and frankly, illegal) cocktail that Harriet likes to bring to parties. He finishes up quickly. “Qrow and I won’t be far behind.”

Now _that_ is interesting. Possibly a matter to pursue further.

Later on, during the fight with the Geist, if Clover maybe feels the need to show off a little bit more, the world will never know. No one is there to read his mind, since only about 2% of the population of Remnant possesses telepathic ability.

Clover would know – after all, he did help write an entire paper about it as a collegiate lab rat.


End file.
